Like Broken Dolls
by Miss Hanamura
Summary: We were meant for so much more. — Adachi/OC, for Ari Moriarty.


A/N: This is for Ari Moriarty, a total sweetheart, and very beautiful girl (err... _Woman_, hehe, sometimes I forget how old you are...), who I've gotten the privilege of getting to know better during the past couple of weeks. Out of all the authors I've been following, she's one of the most inspirational, and to me, all her pieces are perfect. What she does with words, and couples you'd never even considered is just magic. I could never do what she does. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short little thing I've cooked up for you~ Let this be the beginning of a wonderful friendship between us.

Oh! And I have been reading your latest stories, btw (in fact, I was reading _Lolita Looks_ while I was working on this) :3 Sorry, I didn't review them... I've been seeing a lot of network errors when I try, recently...

And does anyone know if the underclassmen would take Trig or not? Because I tried googling what grade you take it in, but every site gives me a different answer... (I skipped it, and went straight for a college course, so I have no idea... Whoops~) Now that I think about it, they might be in Geometry...

* * *

Her brown eyes were always open, sparkling, curious for the world around her. Sure, she lived in a small, rural town where know one really knew her name—she was easily pushed, and shoved aside (mostly by accident), easily forgotten in a sea of grey—but when she closes her eyes, and dreams, it becomes so much more than that. Stalks of corn become high towers, her uniform becomes a ruffled gown; she is a princess waiting for her prince. The next day, a village girl striding through the crowded town market, an explorer diving into a cave. Even at an early age, she had enjoyed playing pretend, fabricating worlds only she could see, getting lost outside for hours in a place only she goes. The sweet, unpolluted Inaba air tickles her nose as she breathes everything in.

But as she grew older, she lost some of her innocence, her flicker of fascination. Reality sinks in, and she comes to realize that she is just a small dot on the map—she is no one special, no one worth while. She has decent, if not average scores, and firey red curls that frame her roundish face. She knows the right words to say when someone asks, but she can't even figure herself out. When the lights go down, she is anything she wants to be, and more, but by day, she returns to Earth as the normal, slightly more insecure school girl still trying to find her place.

What she craved now was novelty, an adventure. The fairytale ending to her book. And as she slips into a pair of worn out dress shoes, and puts on her black duster over her uniform, she thinks today is the day to make a change.

* * *

She shows up to class minutes before the tardy bell rings, and takes her usual seat close to the back. One of her classmates, the town delinquent Kanji Tatsumi (leave it to her to befriend the outcasts), gives her a friendly wave.

"Yo, Midori, mind if I borrow your Trig notes?"

A soft smile lights up on her face—she sees this as her a chance to be recognized, to be used; everything she's always wanted, but never had the drive to pursue. "Sure, Kanji! Lemme, see here... Umm..." She sorts through her bag, pulling out an assortment of items not even school related—from her peripheral vision, she sees Kanji quirk a dark colored eyebrow at the roll of duct tape she sets aside on her desk—until she comes across a crumbled up piece of paper at the very bottom (along with a few candy wrappers, and other things that certainly don't belong there), which she could only guess was the item in question. "Is this it?" The redhead wonders, handing it over to him.

His grey eyes briefly look over it, before turning back to her, a grin present on his face. "Yeah! Thanks, I owe ya one!" A similar look reflects on her own tan-colored face, as she leans over in her chair, chin resting on folded hands.

"How about you treat me to some noodles at Aiya, and we'll call us even?"

"Deal!"

Kanji was a good friend of hers, maybe even her best—she remembers her first time at Tatsumi Textiles, admiring the dolls he had displayed on the shelf, so finely detailed, and stitched with remarking skill; she saw so much of herself in those button eyes—but despite that, he could never give her that sense of accomplishment she so desperately needed. That spark of wonder she seemed to love; she had a hole that could only be filled with praise, when people are looking at her with adorement, feeding her honeyed words, telling her she's beautiful when she thinks she's not; her eyes wander over the other faces in the room—the extroverted idol, the steely, composed Detective Prince—and she can't help, but feel like she pales in comparison. What was she even good for? Why was she here? Her restless mind kept her up most nights with those questions.

Questions left unanswered.

Their teacher—a man in his mid-to-late forties with salt, and pepper hair—walks to the front of the podium, and all actions halt; the students turn in their seats, and give him their full attention. The smile, as it went from his face to his eyes, reminded her of the calm just before a storm, "Today, class, we'll be taking a Career Aptitude Test." As he speaks, he's passing around the stack of papers he's been holding against his chest; Midori lightly fingers the packet she eventually recieves, brown eyes widened. "Based on your skills, and how you answer the questions, this will tell you your perfect job. It shouldn't take you more than 30 minutes to complete." A warmth spreads from her finger tips, and before she knows it, she's grinning like an idiot.

Hello there, novelty.


End file.
